The Sound Of One Hand Clapping
by 15thBurningFiddle
Summary: They twist and wither together in a time not known for reason or sanity. Cold War USSR/US/UK.


"The America I had grown up with seemed to be crumbling beneath my feet…it began to seem like an elaborate castle of sand unfortunately built well below the high shore line. The first wave to touch that castle (Or the first one I perceived) was that long ago announcement that the Russians had beaten us into space."

-Stephen King

**The Sound of One Hand Clapping**

* * *

_When you made me feel joy and made you smile…_

_I feel your stress…Love wasn't meant to be such a crazy affair._

* * *

The Russians had beaten them into space.

I didn't want to hear any more about it. Just the facts, just the facts-it seems like everything was crumbling, or maybe just stopping, and there was no point anymore.

(But it isn't midnight yet.)

WE could have done it and WE should have done it and WE were almost there but WE aren't, are we? And the president went to bed early as he frowned, his forehead wrinkling and his hands clasped together in disapproval. They were all disappointed as the mothers and the fathers went to work and wiped the faces of their children who cared didn't they? Did we?

It mattered and it didn't matter. It happened in another part of the world that didn't touch ours til the bomb dropped at midnight. And we would dance the jitterbug and the waltz-well, friends and neighbors, we lost, didn't we? Haha, well, there's always next time, buddy, Yeah, we'll play again next time.

(It should have been different.)

So many things had changed over the years-from pine to chrome, from England copies to space age wanna-bes, from Czar to Comrade Lenin.

He was aching.

There were Commies under the bed, their hot breath fanning over his face as he worked, vodka wetted lips and lies. Or half truths, or the truth. It didn't matter.

They are their own traitors, whispering secrets back and forth over the telephone, tongues flickering in and out.

Where are you, behind the curtains again? You can't hide forever, love.

Why don't you join me?

And wouldn't I like to. Oh, wouldn't I?

Of course not.

England tells me more, makes me feel less secure. The things I know and the things I don't wrack my mind. The politics, the technology, the starvation, the death. Would it be better if he was dead? Or alive beside me? Will the wall-will the _curtain_ ever fall? Will they ever be able to clean house together with a smile? These days he's looking thinner, and his smile is looking wider. That…that thing he told me about before… that…lie…

It's happening. I see it reflected back at me in violet and viridian. I see that monster in the mirror and I want to hide it in concrete and flower boxes. Destroy it or hide it, which? But…

Everything is eventual. Even the big one.

I promise myself I will have the last midnight waltz. My partner and I will dance in glass shoes and hazmat suits to Rock Around the Clock.

.My partner…as to who that will be, I haven't the foggiest idea.

_

* * *

_

Never felt so lonely, then you came along…

_So now, what, should I do? I'm strung out, addicted to you._

_My body aches now that you're gone. My supply fell though._

* * *

I enjoy having my little America back very much.

It is just so _lovely_ how he crawls toward me for comfort and help, me of all people. Russia is his greatest enemy, Prussia is controlled by his greatest enemy, Canada is pink, and France is still unwell-

Isn't this beautiful?

Ever since World War II I have been in America's confidence. (Special Relationship indeed.) I tell America everything I want to share. Everything I want is not everything America needs, of course-and there's the rub. Ha. America need not worry; I will take care of it. Take care of him. Like I always have. Like I should have, anyway, but this time around a little war won't get in the way.

In fact, it would make everything better.

America is smiling and bobbing his head to that new music-that rock and roll music. The best thing about these recent decades, maybe. That Elvis Presley knows a thing or two, or three. His dancing and lyrics reminds me of the good old days, before I had responsibilities. I would readily admit my affection for Buddy Holly, Danny and The Juniors, and Screaming Jay Hawkins. I love this rock and roll-it's something that we can share and do together. And it makes my dear poppet smile. He hasn't been doing that lately, has he? My America needs to smile; otherwise…he wasn't my America. He would be a broken, cynical rebel in blue with declarations to sign, treaties and…demands.

Now we, together, are in control. We. Us. Past superpower and superpower, advisor and king, shogun and emperor, puppet master and puppet. The sun has set, but a new dawn has begun for the British Empire, and I am not going to waste it. If I wait long enough, patiently enough, and play my pieces correctly, America will be mine. My caged bird.

Will America still be America the Beautiful in a cage?

….

I…I don't know. I don't know if I would love a broken America the way I love him now. (The way I loved him all those years ago.) I loved him because of the promise of freedom in his eyes, manifest destiny blue, and the crooked smile on his face that went on for miles to the west and east.

Is it wrong that-

I remember the madness in his dark eyes and the demon in hers as they kissed, brother and sister-blood is thicker than water even with sugar and milk. Same makes same, witches the lot of them with their faerie spells and saucers of cream. Henry just wanted some flesh-was that so bad? But it was his ancestors fault and mine, he cannot be blamed.

I cannot be blamed.

* * *

_It would be a much better sight with you with me._

* * *

I watch the first rocket-like a shooting star with engines and people inside-blast off into the sky, making a sound that could have been a Black Cat in a trash can or a man's death rattle for all it meant. People were still dying and starving. The field is covered in bile, rocket fuel and red blood, isn't it? We celebrate, we drink. We drink often and hard to stay warm, to remember what it was like two seasons ago.

That is what my heart says. My head-oh how my head disagrees! I have been listening to my heart more and more often, my people. Am I my people or are my people me? Does it matter in the long run? I have lain under the knife before, (For the betterment of the people) had my flesh torn away by the bullets of a gun (So they can understand the folly of their Capitalist ways) and they have done the same for me.

I cut away the things I do not need with the iron knife. Red rivets down my body like the spreading of a disease and I find what I want and remove it like meat from a pig. The scars that remain on me and my dear sister are called Chernobyl and are covered in concrete.

They shoot the sky to make it rain and they cheer because they think it is poison and the acid burns when it goes down and …sister? Sister is not well, sister is very sick leave her alone! I just wanted…I tried…I'm sorry, Comrade. I am so sorry.

(I can hide it well, you see? Years and years have gone by and I still don't remember what it was like before-but this is fine. I keep the unneeded things in a jar on a self in Stalin's office and the steel confines it like so much meat in a meat locker.)

"I will fix it all."

That was my dream.

(Red is for warmth, red is for flushed cheeks after a dirty joke or a good sip of vodka. Red is for life. Red is for blood.)

We will walk together, equal. That was also my dream.

I thought you knew. I thought you wanted it this way but I suppose I was wrong. I'll go ahead with my life and hope one day our paths entwine again. Just remember what I've done for you, dear Amerika. And I'll try to remember myself.

_

* * *

__There's no time for tears._

* * *

A/N:** 12:06 AM 7/21** You're Not Here-Akira Yamaoka

Hey, just a friendly note, guys:

1. Comrade is like Mrs. or Mr. It can go before military titles. For example, Comrade Commander or Comrade Misha.

2. The Soviet Union dissolved in 1991. Russia is _not currently Communist_. It is now called the Russian Federation.

3. Vladimir Lenin was the first leader of Soviet Russia. Not Stalin. Vladimir had good intentions, and was a remarkable man. When he died the reins pasted to Stalin.

4. Chernobyl happened in what _was_ the USSR but is now Ukraine.

(Forgive me for the history lesson, but there are many common mistakes in the Hetalia fandom that make me want to pull my eyeballs out with a turkey baster.)

Cheerio!

PS: If anyone would pass along a good England/America/Russia, I will love you forever.


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